Bring back my memories
by TheCatInTheShadows
Summary: He freed his hand, pulled away, pushed his feelings, his love, again back to his mind palace. He looked his friend softly. "Please, wake up soon, will you John?" pre-slash Johnlock
1. Accident

**Bring back my memories**

It was an accident.

Just stupid accident.

That stupid _stupid_ man who had followed him to their home and tried to kill him.

And John, dear John had done what every soldier do, stepped forward to stop it.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

He could still see it.

The images how John was tripped the man behind, how they had struggled over the gun and the man had pushed John, pushed so hard that John had fell backward, still holding tightly onto a man's hand, pulling him as well with them. A shot had made Sherlock's ears ring. John and the man were gone through the open door to the other side. Sherlock had rushed forward in terror when he realized that they were standing at the top of the staircase. When he got to the door, those two idiots were lying motionless at the lower end of the staircase, John partly below the other man.

Slowly he had descended the stairs, noticing that John was still breathing but the other wasn't.

The man had broken his neck.

Died in instant.

And John had taken the bullet to his left thigh.

"My God!" Mrs Hudson had screamed when she had become to look what was the matter and Sherlock had ordered her to call the ambulance and Lestrade. He had pushed the man coldly away from John.

"John? Can you hear me? Wake up. John!"

And John had opened his eyes and looked him.

"Hurt."

"I know. Be still, and stay awake."

"Can't… move."

Sherlock carefully pushed his blue scarf against the wound. He couldn't know if there was more damage done. It could be that John had damaged his back and worse. But his first worry was the bullet wound.

"You're loosing too much blood John. It maybe hit your artery. Where the hell is that ambulance! MRS HUDSON!"

"Shhh… It's okay…" John had whispered and reached to touch his cheek.

"John?"

John's eyes were empty, so empty that it had frightened Sherlock more than anything ever had. His touch was light, tender. It was as if he was saying good-bye. Then his eyes were closed and the hand was dropped.

Sherlock only remembered that he had screamed John's name.

Then it was just a chaos all over.

The ambulance and the medic.

Lestrade asking questions.

Sherlock buried his head to his knees, covering himself with his hands, but he couldn't go his mind palace now. He wished that he would escape there, forget all this, waiting news from John.

"Sherlock."

Mycroft.

"Go away." He hissed back and felt how his brother retreat but not left the waiting room. He heard him speaking to someone, but couldn't care less whom else there was. Maybe Harry. Of course they had informed the only living relative of John. Maybe Lestrade was still there. Sherlock though that maybe they didn't dare to leave him alone. Maybe it was a wise decision.

Time passed.

Someone tapped his shoulder and he looked up.

"He's out." Mycroft said and Sherlock blinked and slowly rose from the floor.

"Is he… Is he alright?"

"He lost much blood but other than that it seems to be alright. They though that he would wake up by the afternoon."

Sherlock turned to look the clock. Five am. So early yet.

"Can I see him?"

"Ms Watson is now there but after that you can stay. I make sure of it." Mycroft promised. Sherlock just nodded.

He met Harry when she came out of John's room.

They looked each others and again Sherlock though how siblings can be so different. John, caring warm John and this cold woman. But something in her eyes was different now. Something soft.

"Take care of him, will you?" She asked.

"Always."

She rolled her eyes when she left Sherlock alone, his hand on the door handle and he hesitated. He could still feel John's light touch, hear his soft voice and suddenly he realized that he was trembling. He pushed the door open and stepped in and looked John, John who was hooked in the heart monitor. Laying still, only his chest rising slowly.

Sherlock walked closer and took the chair beside the bed and sat.

He looked the hand what had touched him so lightly. How he had for a moment though that this was it, he would be alone again, every waking day.

"You chanced me John. I never though that…"

He took a hold of the hand, wrapping his fingers to his fingers.

"I though I lost you there John."

Love.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

Love and John.

It sounded simple.

It never was.

John would never love him like the way Sherlock wanted it. John who had already lost his love of life. Mary, whose picture stood on the bedside table.

The only thing which Sherlock had never asked anything from John. Thing that he didn't want to know. And John never spoke after the first time.

But Sherlock was happy on his own way.

John lived again in Baker Street with him and that was enough to Sherlock. He didn't want to lose John over something like love.

He freed his hand, pulled away, pushed his feelings, his love, again back to his mind palace. He looked his friend softly.

"Please, wake up soon, will you John?"

And he waited.


	2. Memory of you

_Thank you Lilly A. and all of you who had already alerted and favorited the story._

* * *

When John opened his eyes Sherlock sighed with relieve.

There was a rush of doctors and nurses and Sherlock was forced to leave. He stood in the hallway and send mass of text messages around.

_John is awake. SH_

He even sent one to Harry. And to Mycroft.

It took fifteen minutes when Lestrade arrived.

Thirty from Mycroft.

Over hour before Harry came.

And they still waited. After two hours the doctor came and watched the small group and then Harry questioningly.

"Ms Watson…"

"You can tell here. I don't pretend to know my brother so well that I can do any decisions. Holmes is the one who live with him." She nodded toward Sherlock who was bit taken off from what she said. The doctor eyed Sherlock little confused.

"Oh. There was no mention of hus…"

"We are flatmates and friends." Sherlock said calmly. The poor doctor looked his cart.

"Ah. Well. Let's see. Doctor Watson's leg will heal. No nerve damage."

Lestrade let audible sigh of relief and Sherlock couldn't blame him.

"There was some serious blood lost though and the hit in the head and… Well…"

Sherlock felt how Mycroft moved forward closer of his brother and suddenly he was crateful of the gesture.

"What?" Sherlock's voice was low and demanding and now Lestrade came also forward.

"His memory."

"His memory?" Harry looked put out and the doctor moved nervously sifting his weight leg to leg.

"He can't remember, well, pretty much anything from his life. Its worry some sign to loose almost everything…"

"He can't remember anything?" Sherlock tried to keep himself cool and felt Mycroft's hand on his back, anchoring him. There was some pity in the doctor's eyes when he looked the younger man front of him.

"Sadly, no. He knows things but he can't remember who he is, his life, his parents, his friends, family, and job. He can perfectly fine use phone and write and eat. He knows, a lot, about medic and surgery. And…" The doctor seemed bit awkward and coughed.

"How to kill. I got some, krhm, very descriptive explanation where to aim when…"

"He was soldier. And in his other job he chase after criminals." Mycroft said his voice carrying sudden authority.

"He's consultant." Lestrade muttered.

"With me." Sherlock added.

"Ah. Right." The doctor looked bit calmer but eyed the group more suspiciously now.

"Can I see him?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. It would be good. There is always chance that he'll remember something."

"Will he remember someday?" Sherlock let himself hope even when he saw how the doctor hesitated.

"Memory is very complicated thing. I hope but, I can never say for sure. We'll get him to magnet scan later today to see if there is something physical to do. But if not, then we can only hope."

Sherlock stepped forward, but stopped and looked at Harry who shook her head and retreated to sit. Sherlock realized that she was in shock. They never got along well, much like Mycroft and Sherlock but they were family. And family always meant something to people. Sherlock turned his gaze to Mycroft. His brother was also looking Harry and then turned to see Sherlock.

"Go." He urged and Sherlock went after the doctor.

"Just, take it slowly. Not too much of information will you." The doctor advised.

"Slowly." Sherlock nodded when they entered the room.

John was sitting on his bed, his eyes in window. When he heard them come he looked hopefully up but then he just frowned.

"Hello." He greeted and Sherlock almost stumbled his steps when he heard how John greeted him like a perfectly strange. He had heard that so many times toward clients that he barely hold it. It took everything to keep his voice calm and neutral.

"Hello John."

The frown deepened.

"I know you?"

"Yes. I'm your friend. Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock stopped opposite of John, behind the bed post, and their eyes met.

John blinked.

"Ah. Sorry, can't… remember." There was frustration in his voice, but he hid it pretty well. Sherlock was bit glad of that. So the John he knew wasn't entirely gone. Manners were there, the politeness, maybe more.

"It's okay. Is there anything what you… want to know now?" Sherlock asked carefully and John looked away, shrugged his shoulder. "No, I think."

And that hurt more than anything. Sherlock visibly startled but John never saw it.

"Nothing? I…"

"Where I live?" John still didn't looked at him.

"With me. We share a flat, in Baker Street."

"So, good friends."

"Yes, very good friends."

John looked bit worriedly at Sherlock who in turn shrugged. "We work together too. I'm consulting detective." And he couldn't but let himself sound proud.

"Consulting… Detective…" John tasted the words when he repeated them and then smiled. Truly smiled and Sherlock's heart jumped.

"Sounds good. What I'm, your sidekick?"

And the humour was there.

Sherlock smiled too. "You're my assistant, companion, secretary, mail boy, what ever its takes us to do the job."

"Sounds fun." John tilted his head when he looked at Sherlock and only now Sherlock noticed how distant that look was. Yes, part of his John was missing.

"When I can go home?" John asked from the doctor who looked the cart.

"Tomorrow maybe, if nothing else comes up. Bed rest. No work at least a month. Just taking it all easy. We have to arrange for you the psychologist visit and rehabilitation."

"Tomorrow then. Will you… come?" John looked back to Sherlock.

"Of course. I bring some clothes too."

"Thanks." John's eyes ventured back to the window and Sherlock wanted to run out of the room.

"See you tomorrow John." But before he left, John called him. His voice hesitant when he pronounced his name.

"Sherl…ock. Will…"

"Yes John?"

John's eyes never left the window.

"Will you bring back my memories?"

Sherlock looked the doctor who shook his head fast. Then he looked John, the lonely John who couldn't remember anything.

"Yes, I'll bring back your memories." He promised, turned and left.


	3. Your eyes

Sherlock swirled out of the hospital room only to stop middle of the hall way. He closed his eyes and just stood there a long time, waiting the sick feeling to go.

"Sherlock?"

He looked his brother who couldn't hide his worry.

"He's there, somewhere, and I'll bring him back." Sherlock said firmly. Mycroft frowned a bit when hearing his brother's promise.

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock stopped him, raising his hand. "I don't need your pity Mycroft, I need your help. John needs every help he can get. And I… I need… you."

They stared each others. Sherlock's words shocked Mycroft, who now knew how much in shock his brother really was. This was only second time when Sherlock had asked something like this, something so personal. And last time, the root had been also John.

"You love him." Mycroft said finally, stating the obvious and this time Sherlock looked away. "Can I be sure that you don't harm him in any way? Last time was…"

"I don't repeat my mistakes Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was steel but his eyes told different. They both knew what risk it would be.

"If you take any advan…"

"No. Never. But I have to do this. This's… John who we are speaking." And again Sherlock's voice wavered. Mycroft nodded and sighed.

"Just, be careful. And… I'll be there when you need me. Like always. But John's sake I will watch over you too. And if you hurt him there is no second time. I don't watch this time how you destroy his and yours life. It was lucky, and John's nature, and maybe your love toward him what saved you both after Moriarty, that you were capable to return to life what you shared before, but now… Be careful. Really _really_ careful."

Their eyes met again.

"Thank you."

"I'll speak with the doctors, look that he can get everything what he needs." Mycroft's shield was back again and he was practical as ever and without saying anything more Sherlock left.

#

_John._

His name was John.

It sound right but it didn't bring back any memories.

Then there was Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, his friend, flatmate. At first sight he knew that he could trust the man, although something warned him about the dark tall man. It was confusing.

Then came Harriet (Harry?), his sister, and he felt bad that he just couldn't remember. She looked sad, but also very resigned. _Why? Had he done something to her?_

Then there was _Mycroft_ Holmes (Sherlock's brother? It seemed so, the air around them was very similar) who let him know that everything in hospital was taken care, that he shouldn't bother his head with minor things (everything in his life now was no minor things, but he was crateful).

DI Lestrade, _Greg_, his police friend, some kind of co-worker. He was quiet fellow, said that they would speak later more.

Later there was Mike and Molly and Mrs Hudson, his landlady who brought some clothes (_"Sherlock said he comes tomorrow morning to pick you back at home, and I though to come and see if you need something extra. I'm not sure if he can always be trusted with minor things so I…"), _she was nice, like a mother.

But when the night time came John became restless and he couldn't understand why. Finally he gave up to weariness and pain medicine but soon as he closed his eyes there were dreams.

_Blood._

_So much blood._

_His entire life was filled with blood._

_And he heard shouts and cries and he couldn't see anything but blood._

Two hours later he woke up screaming and he fell of the bed to the floor and he just couldn't understand where he was. Some people tried to calm him down until there was tiny sting in his arm and he felt how he was lifted back to the bed and he drifted away.

When he woke again there were some voices.

"What happened?"

"We made a mistake when we ignored his previous trauma. His PTSD acted up last night and…"

"_Post traumatic stress disorder_." John said and opened his eyes. Sherlock was there, looking him curiously.

"What did you saw John?"

"Nothing clear. There was a fight, and… and… bomb… And blood." John shook his head.

"Well, because of that and your leg you have to stay until…" The doctor started but Sherlock stopped him.

"The wound is clean, isn't it? Just get some sleeping pills and painkillers and sedative in case it goes badly, I'm sure you have his medication note somewhere, we are running out of them, but I'm used to deal his nightmares."

_Used to deal _my _nightmares?_ John stirred his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes John." Sherlock smiled, but it seemed bit forced.

"Alright then. When I can leave?"

It wasn't so simple, it took two days before they stood front of the black door.

"221B Baker Street." John repeated the address leaning heavily to Sherlock who helped him out of taxi. His leg hurt because he was refused to take more painmedicine. It still was too early to leave the hospital, but Sherlock had been stubborn and annoyed everyone to the break point until Mycroft had stepped in and everything was went smoothly forward.

John was just watched with some awe.

It all felt familiar, how Sherlock behaved, how he deduced, how he had said "_Amazing_" first time. And how Sherlock had smiled then first time. Truly smiled this time, not that awful forced smile like before.

But still, he couldn't remember and his nights were filled with blood and screams, and there was that laugh what haunted him even more than any of the blood.

He couldn't say anything about that aloud.

When Sherlock asked him about his nightmares, he couldn't say anything about that laugh.

Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Oh John, welcome home." She hugged him and they helped him in.

And the world turned around.

He felt sick.

"John, John, breathe, calm down, it's okay." Sherlock repeated and lowered him on the floor.

"I… can't…. Sherlock…"

"Panic attack. Your subconscious remembers."

"It… happened here…"

"Yes."

"Right… here…" John tried to breathe, ordering him to calm, his fingers squeezing tightly to Sherlock's jacket.

"I… _died_ here…"

He buried his face to Sherlock's lap and felt how the man froze.

"Yes." Sherlock's voice was barely whisper and suddenly his arms were around him and John was safe.

"You were here." John whispered. "You were here when I… You watched… Your eyes… I remember _your eyes_…"

Sherlock buried his face to his neck and he held his friend even more tightly.

"You're home John. And alive."

"I'm sorry."

"Never your fault. Never your fault my John."

_Yours_, John sighed.


End file.
